


Kiss me hard before you go

by Omano



Series: Angel in the dark [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blind AU, Blind!Dean, Dean has to fall for sexy voices, Hate to Love, M/M, one’s blind and falls in love with the other’s voice AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1289401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omano/pseuds/Omano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thanks to his ever-problematic brother Michael is paired up with a cocky, blind young man who isn't really fond of the idea of being babysat just because he can't see.<br/>Dean of course has to fall in love with the voice of his partner totally out of his league. He really misses the times when it was all Cas, his loyal guard dog, he needed and had for helping him through his daily routine. Even if Cas doesn't have the sexiest voice ever, especially reading up his favourite novels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss me hard before you go

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lana del Ray's Summertime Sadness (I was just listening to that).  
> The idea came from a post of AUs listed on tumblr and one said one’s blind and falls in love with the other’s voice AU. It was a bit difficult to choose a pairing, but damn, Matt Cohen as Michael was more than enough to help me settle. He has like 10 minutes on show and I've sold my soul for him. And also because there's not enough Dean/Michael fics.
> 
> I also based my concept of blindness on the few people I know, so it is probably really far from accurate, forgive me for that.  
> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.  
> Please, enjoy!

**Kiss me hard before you go**

 

To be honest, this was the very first time Michael has ever had to do any kind of communal service, and he wasn’t planning on making a habit of it. It was a huge blow to his ego and his self-esteem (and also to Lucifer’s smug face, but the little shit really did deserve it). He had never done anything, this also was Lucifer’s fault, why did he get such a hopelessly trouble-making brother? See if he stood up for him _ever_ again. At least he could pick what he wanted to spend his March with. But it didn’t change the fact one tiny bit that he hated it.

Working on his empathy levels. Please. Everyone knew that he wasn’t the personification of empathy _or_ sympathy. People had petty problems, he had his own. Different things. Period.

At least he wasn’t alone. Not soon after he took his place in the furthest possible side of the makeshift circle of chairs, crossing his arms and glaring at anyone who had eyes to see (mean, he knew, but who cared?) and surrounding himself with a dark, thick aura of superiority a young man took the seat next to him.

He was taller than Michael, with spiky dark-blond hair, freckles dusting his cheeks, the plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows and T-shirt hugging his chest perfectly. With a huff he sat down, crossed his arms over his chest with the same fashion the other just did, pinched his lips into a stubborn pout and kept on staring ahead with unwavering eyes.

Michael only spared him a glance then went back to his sulking. Then his brain seemed to catch up with him and he took another glance of the guy from the corner of his eyes. Only then did he realize that there was a young dark husky lying by his feet. The dog looked him back in the eyes and gave a grunt.

“Cas, behave,” the guy barked and the dog – Cas? – put its head back on its paws. “This place sucks,” he continued sulking.

“You tell me?” Michael grunted too.

To his surprise the guy tilted his head to the side slightly and scoffed a short dry laughter.

“Isn’t it just the best part of the year to go to support groups? Hell yeah, because I just don’t have a life!”

“Here on your own?” Michael asked dryly. At least he could claim that he engaged in some kind of conversation.

“Fuck no! My family just wouldn’t get out of my hair.”

Michael scoffed too. Yes, that sounded an awful lot familiar. After a pause he reached out his hand, because he was brought up with very good manners, “I’m Michael.”

The other grunted something under his breath but didn’t move. Michael pulled back his hand with a scowl then pulled his chair a bit further away from the guy with absolutely no manners.

This was going to be awesome!

He was on the opinion that only real volunteers should help blind people, who have the patience to them. Michael was patient, true, but it was more like tolerance and his arrogance so that he wouldn’t get involved with people in the first place and then to maintain his cold and superior demeanour to make sure others knew he took no shit from them and he was getting what he wanted. And now here he was, waiting to be paired up with some blind guy or girl to help them go through their everyday routine and also to see that these people weren’t as imbecile and unviable as he (and most of society) had thought.

He wasn’t really fond of the idea.

As it soon turned out his partner wasn’t any more thrilled either.

His partner Dean Winchester, as in the guy who was pouting next to him.

Dean wasted at least ten minutes of their afternoon arguing with Ellen Harvelle, the leader of the support group, that he was perfectly fine, and he could live his freaking life on his own and he didn’t need anyone to babysit him. It quickly turned out that the blind man had a temper and he was prone to bite in very painful places when he didn’t get what he wanted. Michael could relate to that, and okay, maybe his partner got a bit better shade of lighting but he was still wasting time, so he told him to shut up.

Michael listened to the instructions they were given, talk to their partner, get to know them, learn about their needs, don’t be a pig-headed dumbass, communicate, talk, communicate, spend time together.

He was going to love this.

 

 

The first week was a disaster. The dog, Cas, didn’t like him much, and him and Dean were already so much in sync that Michael barely had anything to do while he tagged along to the two dutifully. Even if Dean snapped at him several times that he was annoying, a grade-A douchebag and he really should just get his holier than thou ass home, both of them would feel better.

The only problem was that Michael got a task – no matter how much he hated it, and thus he made sure he fulfilled his duty to the fullest.

He was annoyed, he didn’t enjoy it a tiny bit, because as much as he wanted to follow the instructions Dean went just as far making it close to impossible for him.

Michael was keen on just sitting around in some peaceful place for the one or two hours they had to spend together daily, but Dean didn’t take any of it. He constantly had to move around, fiddling with spoons, trying to balance them on the edge of glasses, cups, on salt-shakers, and most of all touching everything. He did the latter with a devious grin on his pouty lips and he could drive Michael up the wall with that. It had been clear from the very beginning that Dean needed as much help as Michael to tie his shoes. When he was familiar with a place (and he had been to a lot of places) he moved about as if he owned it. He didn’t go to new places. Period.

Also, the man had the tendency to disappear in a second. He somehow had this sixth sense of knowing when Michael wasn’t looking his way, and the next time he turned back to him, Dean and Cas were gone. The two moved so fluidly and without a sound that it could to be envied by a spy even.

The first time he hunted Dean down and gave him an earful. Dean of course was defiant and didn’t feel threatened at all and they had a very ugly fight in the middle of the street.

They didn’t hear the end of it next day at the group’s next session.

The second time Michael decided to keep quiet and give the passive-aggressive treatment. To Castiel’s greatest dismay he just grabbed Dean by the arm and dragged him to the self-help group’s session, which Dean tried to avoid so desperately. Of course the younger got all childishly stubborn on him and prodded and pecked at him until Michael lost it.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he was only a hair’s width away from punching Dean in the face.

Of course Ellen made sure to kick both of their asses.

In retaliation Michael never missed a chance to make Dean as uncomfortable as possible. Not because he was blind, really, he could totally miss that thing out of the description of the man, but because he was annoying. Nearly as much as Lucifer. And that was saying something.

When they had lunch break (Dean had an appetite of a wolf) he always asked if he wanted Michael to feed him, and from an outsider’s view he might have even seemed polite, pulling chairs, making a great show of entrance, fussing with the food (he quickly learnt to step back when it came to crossing roads, because it was Cas dealing with that and he got very snappy when Michael once grabbed Dean by the arm), but Dean’s pride took it just as bad as Michael reacted to rebellion.

They spent the rest of the week bickering, avoiding each other at school (they just found out somehow that they were attending the same university, Michael studying International Relations and Law and Dean doing his first year in Sociology) and just a hair’s width away from getting into a fight in their daily hours of building bridges. And just in his defence, it wasn’t Michael initializing and thirsty for a fight.

 

 

On the Monday of their second week together they got another earful of them being the most insufferable and uncooperative pair in the group. They listened to it with crossed arms and turned away from each other.

They usually went home through the park, this time in unusual silence, when Dean suddenly took a right turn and walked to a bench, sitting down and with an irritated frown turned his head in the supposed direction of Michael.

“Okay, asshole, listen,” he started and buried his hand in the thick fur of Cas’ neck (Michael picked up it was something he did to calm himself), “we need to talk.”

Michael crossed his arms and stepped in front of Dean but refused to sit down. “Don’t I listen enough to your lovely voice otherwise?”

It was a bit misleading, he didn’t live up so much to Dean’s kind nicknames, but he had an awful weekend punctuated with shouting matches with Lucifer and a damn assignment in law was hanging over his head as well.

Dean’s jaw clenched and only Cas’ low whine stopped him from launching at Michael.

“I’m not happy about this whine-together and remind ourselves how much we’ve lost, okay? But as far as it concerns you, it’s only one month while it’s like at least a half fucking year for me, so what do you say about giving me some rest?!”

“Well, it’s not only me being pigheaded here,” Michael pointed out.

Dean sagged in his seat and all of a sudden he looked really tired. He sighed deeply. “Yeah I know, but…” he started rubbing circles to the back of Cas’ neck. “But you annoy me like no one else.”

At the defiant pout that pinched Dean’s lips again to hide the light pink that bloomed on his cheeks at the admission made Michael smile a bit.

“Yeah. That’s also true about you.” Michael said and eventually sat down on the bench at a respectable distance.

“Aren’t we just one fucked-up pair?” Dean chuckled dryly, then undid the clasps of Cas’ red sling, patted his back and murmured “Off you go, boy, it’s playtime.”

Cas looked at the two of them, then licked Dean’s hand and was off to run about the park.

“Is it okay to let him go like that?” Michael asked, his eyes on the dog that immediately went to make friends with a collie. He knew that guide dogs were very well-trained, but he also remembered how great trouble it was to hunt down their golden retriever when it found a squirrel once when they were kids with Lucifer.

“Yeah, Cas is the best. I just call and he comes,” Dean answered with a smug smirk.

“How long has he been yours?” Michael was surprised how easy the question came all of a sudden now that they stopped for a minute and were sitting next to each other.

“Two years in June. Mom and Dad promised to get him for me if I get into college.”

Michael frowned. Dean was still in his first year.

“I know, yes I failed at first. It’s not that easy to get over depression, smartass,” Dean told him, (he was pretty good at picking up on silences) but beneath the annoyance he was smiling a bit. “But Mom and my uncle Bobby convinced Dad that Cas would be a great motivation. Sure it was a nice change.”

The dog didn’t seem much older than the two years Dean claimed to own him, so they probably had been training together for a good time. The shift in concentration must have been a nice thing for Dean. Michael didn’t know how long ago did he lose his eyesight, but he knew that if he had lost his anywhere in his teen years it would have taken him at least half a decade to get back on his feet. Or at least he liked to think he could get back out of it.

He was just about to ask Dean a bit more about how he got blind, when the other came before him.

“So, how did you end up with me as your pet-project?”

Michael looked at Dean with raised eyebrows. It still took him some getting used to to treat Dean according to his limited abilities. The guy functioned so perfectly on his own it was easy to forget that he didn’t see his face.

“My brother got me in trouble.”

“Finally some new information,” Dean exclaimed mockingly after Michael didn’t seem to elaborate more. “You really are a man of few words, huh Michael?”

He started – and wow, wasn’t that a strange feeling? It wasn’t the bad type when his father used to holler his name and he knew if he wasn’t in front of him in five seconds he would regret it dearly; it wasn’t even anything close to those winces when Lucifer sometimes managed to sneak up on him from behind, not even a chill from the cold. It was – rather pleasant.

But he quickly masked it up so that his voice wouldn’t give him away.

“If you really are so interested,” he offered generously. “My brother’s studying Art, all liberal attitude as you can imagine, parties every second night and he has a temper on his own. It’s his hobby to get into fights. He’s just rather reckless at picking them. So I stood up for him and well… there were a few injuries involved.”

“Eight day to heal injuries?” Michael was surprised to see that Dean was grinning.

“That’s right. But just because it could be proven that the guy started it and it was more or less self-defence, I was only threatened to lose my scholarship if I don’t do communal service.”

“Little brothers, huh? Always the trouble-makers.”

After that Michael didn’t realize that they soon were sitting under lamp-light and they had been talking for two hours in a very friendly manner.

It turned out Dean had heard quite a bit about Lucifer and he nearly fell off the bench when Michael admitted that they were in fact twins. Dean was tight lipped about himself, how he lost his sight and how he got over it, even though Michael got all the more intrigued the more he heard about Dean’s surrounding’s, but he spoke about his family, his strict ex-Marine Dad, his lovely Mom and her awesome pies, his uncle Bobby who made it his mission to kick some sense into the Winchester family’s male members when they were just acting _idjits_ , and his little brother Sam, who was applying for Law this year.

He didn’t realize but when they had to leave the park because of the cold and they stood to leave, Michael immediately reached out to steady Dean when he wavered a bit on his frozen legs and he remained that close even when the man stood straight again. It was the first time Dean took his arm just above his elbow and let himself be guided back to his apartment by both Michael and Cas.

None of them mentioned that ever after though.

 

~*~

 

Dean had too nice of a day to hope that it wouldn’t go all downhill from now on.

He had been suffering from a goddamn headache for two days that got him all snappish and grumpy and he bit hard and made sure to leave a stinging mark when someone as much as dared to insult him, but this fine Saturday morning it was finally gone. The breeze through his window was fresh, the sun on his skin warm, just a perfect morning to sit at the windowsill sunbathing and listening to his favourite Metallica album without any schoolwork to worry about.

The morning was all his own, he would have a quick light lunch, then go shopping and spend the night with Charlie. She promised a re-run of Star Wars and to introduce him to the Game of Thrones (how that would all fit into one night he had no idea about). But of course it was too nice to be true.

He had no idea how long he had been twirling the phone around among his fingers absentmindedly, but it was about time he found his balls and made the damn call. Fucking Cas had to disappoint him today!

Dean punched the call sign as if it had personally offended him.

He counted the rings of the dial in his ear and he felt the fist around his stomach grow tighter with each one of them.

He was about to hang up when – “Hello?”

Dean froze in place. It wasn’t Michael’s voice. He didn’t know this voice.

“Hey! Anyone still there?...” pause and some fumbling, “Oh you must be Mike’s new pet—“

That was enough to snap Dean out of his stupor.

“Listen you little shit, whoever you are—“

While at the same time he heard Michael’s stifled voice finally.

“—Don’t touch my stuff! Hello?”

Wow, why the hell was Michael panting?

“Hey, this is Dean,” Now he felt a bit uncomfortable and was about to say how sorry he was for disturbing and hang up just to never call again, when Michael interrupted him, tone stifled as if he wasn’t even talking to him.

“I swear I’ll kick your ass out, Lucifer!”

“…”

“Just get out!” Dean listened in slight bewilderment. Michael’s brother. Figures. “I’m sorry, my brother is an imbecile maggot at times and loves answering my phone.”

“… so afraid of me scaring away your boyfriend, take it to the shower—“

There was the unmistakeable sound of something heavy hitting the wall and the fading evil cackling of Lucifer.

“I’m going to kill him one day,” Michael muttered, and his voice brought the picture of the smouldering wrecks of a tree struck by lightning.

“I can provide an alibi if you’re interested,” Dean offered with a tad bit strained grin, because he just didn’t need  the image of Michael all wet and flushed just out of a hot shower only covered in a towel.

Not that he really knew what Michael looked like (and wasn’t that annoying?), he only knew for certain that he had strong arms (he could feel the shifting muscles even under his jacket, and he really was curious if he was so well-built everywhere, but wouldn’t that be just hell of embarrassing and totally gay to ask for his partner if he could feel him up all the way?) and he also supposed that he had dark hair, he still had to confirm that theory somehow but he was more or less certain in his guess. One’s voice showed a surprising lot of a person (Dean would have never believed that, but damn it was true if he put his mind to it and didn’t shut his brain down from too girly thoughts and pictures), and Michael’s suggested dark hair. Dean’s imagination was quick to give the man strong and chiselled lines to the face, firm line to thin lips, piercing eyes and strong frame.

But his voice, man! Michael had this way of speech, this focused beam of raw power that could manifest in a firestorm or get sharp and penetrating like the finest steel. He had this skill to turn his words, to make them fall from his lips with all syllables pronounced in an enticing way, like the sound of the waves crashing at the seashore—

And see? Dean just managed to totally get lost, far-far away and make a fool of himself.

Lucky, the annoyed edge in Michael’s voice as he called out his name (probably for one hundredth time) was enough to tune him back in. That aspect of one’s way of speech was enough to get Dean all riled up.

“Sorry, man,” Dean said quickly and hoped that no damn butterfly would decide to venture a ride up his windpipe from his stomach. “I was just wondering if, ugh, if you had an hour or so this afternoon?”

“An hour or so?” Michael repeated and Dean could just hear the fucking quotes in his smooth tone.

“Yeah,” he admitted and thank goodness or anything above, his annoyance covered up just fine for the sheepishness. “Cas decided it’s a fucking good idea to get into puberty today, and I just can’t get the muzzle on him, and I can’t go shopping with him without one.”

No order, no threat, no freaking begging worked on Cas. He just put down all four of his paws and decided that he wasn’t even going near the muzzle and the leash, he went even so far as to try and hide under Dean’s bed.

Dean lost his patience then and it only took like half an hour to convince himself that he could just call Michael for some help. If they were finally on speaking terms all thank to the universe’s strangest miracle.

After a long pause Michael suggested, “Why don’t you give me a list and I’ll do the shopping for you?”

Dean would never admit to anyone that he grew just a tiny bit weak in the knees at that.

“I’m very picky, man, it wouldn’t spare much time,” he answered and tried to sound as flippant as he could, “and we still have to work out something to report on the next session.”

The shopping would just be a perfect chance to spend an hour together, and even though they could just spend the weekend on their separate ways (Dean wouldn’t really have minded that a week ago) and come up with a white lie, there was no way he could lie to Ellen (she had a sure-fire Dean’s-bullshitting-sense) and Michael was one to go to all ends to fulfil his duties.

“True,” Michael sighed on the other end of the line. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

If there was one thing Dean could bet good money on? Michael would be at his door in twenty minutes sharp.

 

~*~

 

Their third week together went down pretty fine and quite uneventful. They spent their hectic lunch breaks in each other’s company sulking about the stupid teachers and classmates they had to make a project with. (Michael complained the most when Dean managed to prompt just right, and wasn’t that strange? All calm, and high and mighty Michael whining about stupid peasants?)

They attended the support group occasions, they both hated it with the same ferocity as ever before, but now they tried to hide away from Ellen’s scrutinizing gaze together. That was childish, Michael fumed, but Dean just grinned. It was fun, and he wasn’t really complaining when Michael’s breath puffed warm and wet on his neck when they crouched under the stairs. Pressed together in small places, squirming and still bickering and trying to keep quiet made his skin buzz and his blood sing with excitement (and gave him the perfect opportunity to check out the elder’s built – and damn, Michael was all that hard muscle everywhere!), and he felt he lived again. Like live-live, not just get by and enjoy the small things.

Gosh he was so damned!

Charlie didn’t help much.

Anything that involved Charlie and a few drinks (more like a few bottles actually) and talking only ever made Dean sure that life sucked. He was certain about it in general, because losing your eyesight at 16 sucked royally, which meant he couldn’t become the cool and awesome mechanic he had always wanted to be, not to mention the pain of finishing high school, but then admitting out loud and onto the recorder of Charlie’s phone that “he had the hots” for a guy he only knew for thirteen days and of whom he only mostly knew that he had a voice that made him swoon in the middle of a supermarket, well. That was royally screwed.

(It was the heating though – Dean claimed vehemently – the mall was so hot and stuffy as if it was minus sixty degrees outside!, so he staggered a bit only because there was not enough oxygen.)

But okay, actually re-listening to his own (surprisingly just slightly slurred) voice stating that he was head over heels for Michael wasn’t that bad. No, okay it _was_ , but Dean took it in stride pretty well. Charlie told him later when they both were over their hangover, that she was honestly expecting her phone to be hauled out through the closed window, but Dean accepted it with a deep sigh and the kind of self-depreciating smile that just screamed for a carton of ice-cream.

So they just did that. That was a nice Sunday. Strange, of course, but nice.

Then there was the thing that made Dean’s life all that such perfectly unbearable mixture of Heaven and Hell.

On Wednesday, when they were walking back home through the park, Dean’s hand resting in the crook of Michael’s arm (yes, it quickly became a habit) Michael accidentally bumped into him and came to an abrupt stop.

Cas whined low in his throat when he was suddenly pulled back and Dean, too, frowned in confusion.

“What?” he asked and tilted his head to the side wondering if Michael had heard something or why they stopped in the middle of the road?

Michael, the fucker, didn’t say a word of course, used to always getting his way, all confident he took a small step to get half in front of Dean, and he was just about to snap at him to cover up his quickened breathing, when Michael reached out, and holy shit, he was all in Dean’s personal space, all warm and firm, and a soft resonating hum in his throat, and Dean nearly missed the small weight being pulled out of his pocket.

He automatically grabbed after it and snatched Michael’s wrist – a strip of warm skin under his shaking fingers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dean snapped, his cheeks were flushed and he was panting as well.

“Easy, Dean,” Michael told him, and Dean nearly sagged there and was close to fall like a sack of potatoes, because Michael articulating his name on that low tone, rich and sure, like a spell had an instant effect on his knees.

“Do you plan on breaking my wrist?” he asked casually, a tiny quirk at the end, a question mark, and Dean only realized that he had to concentrate hard to get his fingers’ grip loosen on Michael, but he didn’t let go. “I was only curious what was poking my side.”

It finally dawned on Dean, and he pinched his lips into a pout.

“Have you never been thought to ask first?!” he snapped.

Michael hummed in his throat again, soft and honest to God as if he’d only heard this rule for the first time!

“My apologies,” he said, but his voice was rather thoughtful than actually remorseful.

“Accepted,” Dean grumbled then trailed his hand down along Michael’s to snatch his book back, but Michael didn’t let go. “Dude, what now?”

 “Why do you carry around a book in your pocket,” Michael started slowly, “when you can’t even read it?”

“Wow, thank you asshole, I didn’t realize that!” It was easier to snap and bite then to admit that his heart just freaking stopped beating and he felt his throat grow tight and heat rise inside him. Michael had really nice hands.

“I’m just simply curious.”

“Well, than work on the phrasing a bit,” and finally he managed to pry his precious novel out of the strong fingers. “Old habit.”

Dean was stuffing it back into his pocket with only one hand, which deemed more difficult then he thought, when there was a pair of warm hands that helped him and soon the book slipped into its original place again.

“Did you used to read a lot?” Michael asked gently.

“Not really,” Dean admitted, his voice raspy at the edges and turned his head to the side so that the air would cool his burning cheeks. “But I liked good horror stories, and used to sneak Dad’s old books out of the house and bring to boring classes.”

Michael hummed again, but apart from that they didn’t talk, not even when Michael nudged his arm again so that they would get going. The next time he heard Michael’s voice was when he declared that they arrived and they said their goodbyes. All along Dean was brewing in his thoughts, wondering how pathetic he must have seemed to Michael for clinging to his old habits that much.

 

 

On Thursday Michael asked Dean if he still had his novel stuffed in his pocket and if he could take a look at it. Bewildered by the simple fact that Michael was still willing to talk to him and sit with him at the coffeeshop he hid away in his embarrassment Dean nodded his consent and shyly handed over his old and worn copy of Mother Night.

In the silence that settled over them Dean could hear the rustle of the pages being turned in Michael’s hand. He was totally puzzled and sat in his seat while he tried to appear as insignificant as possible and relished in the familiar warmth of Cas resting his head on his knee.

“Do you have any idea on what our common leisure activity should be?” Michael asked after long, and for Dean’s part pretty uncomfortable, minutes.

Dean frowned. “We have lunch together occasionally,” he said cautiously, “and freeze blue in the park after the support group crap.”

Michael hummed.

“Don’t you want me to read up for you?”

Never one to pray, especially not ever since he had gone blind, but then and there Dean prayed like no dying man that Michael wasn’t joking or wasn’t planning on humiliating him. Okay, he knew he was a little shit and annoying at most times, especially when he called out other people for their bullshit, but man, just the idea of Michael meaning his offer!

Dean had liked his voice from the very beginning – he realized it was really true from the first word, he was just too busy cursing everyone for life to realize that; and it was also the sole reason why he never backed down from their fights.  He only knew that way how to make Michael talk, and damn, when Dean managed to rub him all the wrong ways there was a whole thrilling scale of Michael getting worked up. The rise in tone, the slight tremor at the end of sentences until he snapped, then how quickly he got over this phase when Dean didn’t shut up, and he grew all silent and eerily calm, like the silence before the storm with the imminent cold brush of wind that sang of freezing water and blinding light that burnt. He loved the power and the commanding authority Michael carried around him, covering him like a cloud, hiding and only revealing his true rage in the flashing electric storm of lightning.

He sounded always so smooth…

“I thought you’d snap at me for treating you as a toddler,” Michael said with an incredulous crooked smirk in his voice. “I’m getting worried Dean.” And there was the thing how perfect, holier than thou, genius, I’m-the-king-of-the-universe Michael could say his name… “I didn’t break you, did I?”

If only he knew…

“Don’t you think they’d revoke the threat of losing your scholarship if you’re still such an arrogant dick?” he bit back, and a chuckle rumbled in Michael’s chest.

“You’re just jealous.”

“And you’re overcompensating.”

“You wish.”

“Jerk.”

Michael chuckled again – how lucky that Dean was sitting!

“So what do you say?”

“You know that I have a program that reads stuff up for me, right?”

“I was about to practice an act of kindness, but you just made me relapse into my hopelessly narcissist and egotists ways.”

“Jeez, yes, make it all sound like it’s my fault! Okay, okay, practice some so-called kindness, you emotionally manipulative dick.”

“It’s called getting what I want.”

They didn’t agree on that for the next half an hour.

 

 

Dean shuffled his feet a tiny bit anxiously in front of the apartment Michael shared with his brother. He had never been here, it was a totally unfamiliar territory and he could already envision himself tripping over furniture or just the damn threshold as lucky as he was.

He was chewing the dead skin of his lower lip when the sound of rushing footstep and the fumbling jiggle of keys was heard through the wood. Then there was the unmistakable hushed command from Michael which made Dean’s heart leap in his chest, and he desperately wanted to flee and just never-ever come back, but he was also frozen on the spot.

Shoving, fussing and bickering, barked out words muffled by the door.

By his left Cas whined deep in his throat. If he was human there would be a deep frown grazing his features, and that was exactly why Dean loved Cas so much.

“I know buddy,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t believe it either.” But who knew better than Dean that one’s family could bring out both the worst and best of a man?

However, it didn’t make him feel any more at ease.

He had spoken to Lucifer a few times on the phone (Lucifer, who was 8 minutes younger than Michael and made sure no one called him Nick as he was baptized short after birth, and also who had the habit of stealing Michael’s phone and chatting away amiably with his brother’s callers), and he wasn’t that bad, just a real dick at about 90% of the time, but Dean liked his sense of humour and he tended to speak less formally than his twin.

“So that’s what you look like,” Lucifer said as some kind of greeting as he finally swung the door open.

There was an uncomfortable chill running down Dean’s spine as he could feel Lucifer’s eyes scanning him in from crown to toe. Cas, too, shifted closer to him, pressing his flank up against the side of his leg.

“Why don’t you just let him in and get lost?” Michael grumbled with a faint spark of threat in his voice.

That caused and entirely different kind of tremor shake Dean’s whole frame. He hoped it wasn’t too visible.

“I thought we agreed to inform each other before bringing up dates,” Lucifer teased but stepped out of the way. “Just straight ahead,” he said. “I would have left some shoes in your way to trip over and fall in Prince Charming’s arms, but he threatened to disembowel me.”

Lucifer and his snide remarks that made Dean pray Michael really did strangle him one day.

“Do you want to spend the rest of the week in Lili’s den again?”

Ooh, cold and sharp with the sting of velvet smooth. Dean covered up his chuckle and blush with a cough while Lucifer grumbled something about the tyranny he has to live in, and Cas lead him into the warmth of the apartment.

Michael took his arm gently to guide him to his room, far from the natural disaster called Lucifer, then they both stood in the door a bit puzzled.

“I didn’t think it through,” Michael mumbled, and Dean had to laugh as he imagined Michael glaring at his room as if it had offended him.

“What? Forgot to hide all the sex toys?”

_Gosh, good job Winchester!_ It just had to slip his mouth! Damn, his face was on fire in an instant, he felt dizzy from all the blood that rushed there and it was thrumming in his ears. Good time to make a run for it – or it would be, if Michael’s hand didn’t rest heavy and warm on his forearm.

“You wouldn’t see them anyway, so why bother?” Michael said nonchalantly and with the faint smirk in his voice, and _o-kay_ , Dean really didn’t need any picture following right now!

Could he get any redder? Someone please kill him now!

“I’d say to make yourself comfortable,” Michael said and pulled the dumbfound Dean inside so that he could close the door behind them.

“Sorry about that,” he said gently when Dean didn’t budge.

“No, no, I- It- I’m ‘kay,” Dean stuttered out, and willed himself to calm down. Honestly! This was a real pain. “Just, unfamiliar, stuff, y’know…”

_Good job, now find a freaking wall so that you don’t feel so out of it!_

Still not the best call.

When Dean reached out to feel for a wall so that he would at least have the basic idea of where he was, because simply asking for it would have been too easy, all his hand found was Michael’s very firm chest.

Dean jerked his hand away as if he had touched fire and was about to pray the carpet had a mouth and swallowed him whole, when Michael grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled gently, so that soon his fingers touched the bare walls of his room, just next to the doorframe.

He was going to faint.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, barely audible. He was never going to live this down…

“So, do you want me to tell you what’s where, or rather risk exploring?” Michael’s voice sounded a bit thicker, but that was all. He was just as calm and collected as ever. That both annoyed Dean and put his mind at ease. They were cool.

After an awkward five minutes Dean finally settled a bit nervously on Michael’s bed while the elder sat in his chair.

When Michael started reading though, Dean felt he finally deserved his little slice of Heaven.

Dean couldn’t imagine what was in it for Michael, but from that Thursday on they spent one extra hour together when Michael read up from Dean’s old novels he just couldn’t leave behind when he moved away from home. Sam would bring some of them with himself when he moved in as soon as he got accepted to college, so he was just helping packing.

Not that he was complaining.

It became his most favourite habit, and Dean wasn’t even surprised that more often than not he listened to the flow of Michael’s voice wash over him like the lazy waves of the sea or how the warm sunrays caressed his cheeks in May. He knew his favourites by heart so it wasn’t that difficult to tune out and listen to the soothing voice alone and daydream a little bit.

Just as long as their little pair-work lasted.

Dean had no illusions. He knew he had absolutely no chance at Mr. Perfect, so he aimed to get the most of it while he still had it.

Damn, he had to fall for voices!

 

~*~

 

“I thought you had a date scheduled for today,” Lucifer grinned at Michael with his mouth full with his morning (2 p.m.) cereal and leaning his hip against the counter where his brother was preparing his own lunch.

Michael didn’t even glance up from his chopping.

“What makes you think I don’t have plans for today?”

“You haven’t shaved,” Lucifer pointed out. “And last night you didn’t try to kill me for blaring music the whole time, so you couldn’t finish your essay…”

“Dean is at home right now. Family-visit.” Michael interrupted him on a cold tone. Sometimes he really hated having a twin who knew his quirks all too well (and used them against him with absolutely no remorse).

“And now you’re sulking in the kitchen because he didn’t bring you home to introduce to Daddy and Mommy?”

“Don’t you have an art project to finish?” Michael asked a bit sharper than he meant to, but the way he changed his grip on the handle of the knife was enough to get Lucifer back off.

The blond cackled and on his way back to his cave sang some stupid song which involved KISSING all spelled out and repeated a few times.

When he left and all the anger evaporated finally from Michael, he glanced at his watch. The arms of the clock didn’t seem to move fast enough for him, and wasn’t it a strange thing? Usually he was pleased to note that he still had plenty of time to get his assignments done and then do some learning in advance probably, or do some research on what he wanted to write his thesis about, but now he gritted his teeth and was utterly annoyed that he couldn’t command time to pass quicker.

He had spent his morning sitting over his essay and glaring a hole into the empty white sheet with the flashing cursor. There was just no way he could grab the topic right. Asking Lucifer for help would be futile and beyond reckless, while he was far more proud than to ask any of his classmates.

It was strange how much he got used to listening to Dean’s intake on the matter of his papers. With perfect timing, just when he got bored with the usual style he got to topics with, Dean came crashing into his life with that perfectly different but still in sync way of strategic thinking that made writing a challenge again.

Michael walked back into his room and after a short pause of measuring his own behaviour (it was really-really strange that it wasn’t pure logic anymore) he lay down on his bed stretching out and folding his hands under his head. This was where Dean usually lay. No, he was propped up against the headboard with Michael’s pillows piled under his head (He wasn’t going around such thoughts that he might haven’t slept better in quite a long time before he could or couldn’t catch the scent of Dean’s shampoo and cologne after lounging on his bed for hours).

Gazing at the ceiling he frowned. He was going to kill Lucifer, he decided.

The thought was an ever-present one floating about his mind, sure, but ever since Lucifer got it in his thick skull that his brother was in love with his little pet-project and made a sport of over-analyzing everything Michael happened to hint about his time spent together with Dean… Well, it was getting on his last nerve.

They got on well, surprisingly so, and he would even admit that he grew to like Dean.

It was strange and also a bit unsettling, even frustrating at times. Especially that when they talked Dean only turned his head in the general direction of Michael (until he got tired, then it got even more frustrating when he talked to him facing the ceiling for example). For Michael it was elemental to demand eye-contact when he was talking to someone or was being talked to. He learned early that it helped to assure his control over the person. Of course, he logically knew that there was no use in that with Dean (he couldn’t see for crying out loud! he still had to remind himself too often, and any kind of thought of the pale, silvery green eyes being nice to look at was stumped down mercilessly or aggressively ignored), but his commander inside voice that operated his life was bristling at that constantly.

Dean was stubborn, full of affection and devotion for family, and so much smarter than he gave himself credits for.

There had been days Dean was in no better shape than a rug after a weekend drenched in mud and rain just because his brother was heartbroken and worked up his mind and courage to call Dean in the middle of the night. He brushed these days away as nothing. Big brother’s duty. Michael could relate to that, but he knew from personal experience that he wouldn’t help working on Lucifer’s Latin the next days as per usual without some kind of repayment.

That was another thing, Dean was fluent in Latin (which Michael could appreciate in its fullest) and he made sure his brother would be fine if he wanted to get into Law school. Then there was his devotion to going through the novel one of his friends was writing (for four years). He liked to help and didn’t ask anything in return. He was indeed pretty confused when he was offered something. He talked people through on the phone even half asleep what to check if their microwave oven didn’t open or was puffing out black smoke, or he once repaired Charlie’s broken-down car from sixty miles away. He did all these with a shrug.

Michael tried his best to change this low self-esteem (it wasn’t much because of his questionable empathy-levels, but he was at least trying), but Dean brushed him off as well.

Turning words and paragraphs from his textbooks around in his mind Michael settled back on his bed and set down to compose his essay in his head. He was pretty comfortable actually.

By the time Dean rang him up on Skype he was more or less ready with his paper. With a pleased groan he rolled up on one elbow to snatch his headphones and press a few keys to answer the call then lay back down, closed his eyes and pretended they were chatting in Michael’s room.

He wondered if such things were easier for Dean…

 

The piece of cherry pie Dean brought back from Lawrence was really a piece of Heaven on his tongue. But he wouldn’t admit it immediately. Just to get Dean all riled up and teasing him into a rant of how his Mom’s pie was the best pie ever.

 

~*~

 

Michael was vivid with fury. As he walked the streets the people parted in his way like the Red Sea with the air of murder looming around him.

A marble statue stood more at ease than him as he waited for the door to open.

“… told you Charlie there was no chance with Michael…”

Keys jiggled, locks clicked and he could hear his name fall from the full lips in the cool air of the hallway. It quickly died on Dean’s mouth as he froze in the doorway. Michael gazed at him, cool and expectant and maybe there was a tiny weak streak of bemusement blooming in his chest as Dean’s expression crumbled and shifted from annoyed to embarrassed mortification.

“You’re not Charlie, are you?” he asked awkwardly.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Michael told him.

Dean’s head jerked up at that, his mouth opened and closed before he managed to regain his composure and stepped aside.

“Come on in,” he said, then put the phone back to his ear, “I’ll call you back later Mom.”

Michael moved in the apartment with ease. He had been here several times, he felt he could navigate his way through it with his eyes closed. Nothing ever changed here. He sat down on the sofa with a deep sigh.

“So, what’s up?” Dean asked from the doorway of the living room. “So worked up I don’t even get a ‘hi’?”

“Hello Dean,” Michael said.

Cold, and reserved, and damn, he just found his voice he only used on people he despised, and he realized his mistake immediately as Dean’s face closed up. As much as the younger could look as if the sun was shining under his skin, he could close up and Michael was about to understand fully why he was avoided in a ten-feet radius when he looked like that.

“What have I done?” Dean asked. His voice was low and rough, ready for another fight.

They had had a hectic week.

“It’s not about you,” Michael offered and really hoped this would be enough for Dean to let it go for a bit. He was truly afraid to poke the lid of the hurricane of emotions that filled his chest.

Dean stood motionless for a long minute before his mask of ice cracked.

“Anything to drink?” he asked and headed to the kitchen. Michael was making him feel uncomfortable in his own home. “Water? Or something stronger?”

“Water would be nice,” he said silently.

It took Dean deliberately longer to find a glass and to fill it. After he placed it in front of Michael he sat awkwardly in the armchair next to him chewing his lower lip, facing the floor.

Michael looked at him. So this is how guilt felt like.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “for… breaking in on you.”

“’S okay,” Dean mumbled. “Just wasn’t really expecting you.”

“You were waiting for Charlie.”

“Not really,” Dean sighed and ran his hand through his messy hair. “She just has the habit of springing on me if she can’t kick some sense into me on the phone.”

“About me?”

“Not everything is about you asshole.”

Michael’s mouth quirked up in a wry smile. The silence this time wasn’t that strained.

“So… what’s the air of menace?”

After a long pause and measuring his options Michael answered shortly, “Lucifer.”

“Ah.”

“I just need a place where I could finish my assignment.”

For the first time in a week Dean seemed to look directly at him with his sightless eyes, a frown over his brows and something soft, almost caring and fond around his lips, and Michael knew Dean understood everything he could not say.

He couldn’t ask for permission, because he didn’t know how to, because in his whole life he could demand things and he would get them by force or through fear. He couldn’t say that he had nowhere else to go, because their apartment was like the field of Armageddon, because he had been shouting and fighting with Lucifer for the day after he spent his night at the police station trying to get his brother out of custody for his own stupidity. He couldn’t tell Dean that he didn’t know anyone who would accommodate him, because he had no friends. He had subjects, people eager to please him, but he didn’t trust them, didn’t _like_ them. He couldn’t admit that even despite his temper that made things strained between them the past week, Dean turned his life upside down. He couldn’t say that nowadays sometimes he felt that all he had in this world was Dean.

“Sure.” Dean said and shrugged. “Sofa’s yours.”

 

~*~

Dean woke with a gasp and it was only the familiarity of Cas’ warmth pressing into his side that stopped him from crying out loud in panic. His heart beat like a sledge hammer against his ribs so much he doubled over in pain, his breath quickened up, he was panting hard but his lungs must have shrunk while he was asleep because he just couldn’t get enough oxygen—

Still panting heavily he put his head between his knees and tried to force his mind to concentrate on something else. Something calming, anything that wasn’t the wind howling outside, or the sound of thunder clashing nearby with the ferocity of a wrecking ball that just demolished the wall next to his bed.

Cas whined next to him, worried that he couldn’t soothe his friend, and a small part of Dean’s brain that wasn’t overcome by this unreasonable panic felt really sorry for Cas. He hugged him tight and hid his face in the thick fur around his neck.

_Calm down, Dean_ – he told himself, but even his voice in his head was weak and sounded like a four-year-old’s. _Calm the fuck down, it’s just yet another shitty storm!_

Sadly, it was of no use. When he finally thought he was about to calm down another clash shook the world around him, and he couldn’t help a sob escape. He cursed and bit his lips hard, but the shaking – the shaking he couldn’t help.

Why the Hell was he reacting so bad?

He was fumbling through fragments of thoughts, anything that he could find in the box labelled ‘calm’, and finally he seemed to find it. There was a faint gleaming thought that seemed just strong enough to get him concentrate.

It was like a small glowing globe of red and gold in the distance in the middle of the night, out in the middle of nowhere. He had no idea how far he was, how long it’d take for him to reach that camp-fire, but it was there, and it gave him the hope he was willing to kill for.

Dean ventured closer to the fire, shy and still cold and tense, his body just wasn’t cooperating, paralyzed by fear, but the glow grew stronger.

Another clash of thunder and he fell flat on his face. He was shaking, and all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and freeze, he didn’t want to move, he couldn’t move any further! But he could already feel the warmth of the fire. A fire that no storm could put out.

So he gathered his shaking limbs and walked on.

Then, when he reached the camp fire, he suddenly realized that it was in fact a huge bonfire. Logs like the trunks of massive thousand-year-old trees were burning to hot-red coal and when one collapsed into ashes there was a myriad of sparks that busted in the cold night like burning crimson stars that seared into his mind.

This fire was stronger than the storm, everything was scorching hot and bright, blinding gold and red around, there was no sign of the storm, the cracking of the ancient logs left no place for the howling wind and it was like walking on the surface of the sun. It was power radiating all around.

 Gold, and protective, and fire.

_Michael..._

\--

Michael had serious difficulties putting back everything together that had happened from the moment his phone went off on his nightstand, through what words Dean exactly used on the phone, to how he managed to arrive in sixteen minutes in front of Dean’s apartment. His heart was thudding so fast and hard in his chest because he had been running the whole way, because there was no way he drove in such weather, there was a stabbing pain in his lungs every time he drew a breath and he was soaked from head to toe, but what his mind was caught upon was the panic that was unmistakable in Dean’s voice on the phone.

Dean asked him for help. Dean _needed_ his help. Dean _wanted_ his help.

Everyone revolved around him, of course, but yet. The fact that Dean, independent and stubborn Dean Winchester needed him (did he really? Michael didn’t remember) was something strangely hard to grasp.

He heard Cas’ muffled bark and the lock turn and finally the door opened. It was dark inside, but a strike of lightning revealed Dean’s frame hiding behind the door. He looked so different from the self-assured young man Michael was used to.

“Dean?” Michael asked cautiously and stepped forward. “What’s wrong?”

Dean ducked his head and shuffled his feet awkwardly.

“I’m really sorry,” he mumbled, and there was a whimper that just barely escaped his throat after another thunder clashed.

“You don’t like storms,” Michael noted and put his cold hands on Dean’s shaking ones, and closed the door. Dean just couldn’t manage the lock.

“Un- understatement of the year,” Dean chuckled weak and dry.

Fighting back his shaking Dean quickly jerked his hand away and in a fumbling hurry tried to make his way past Michael.

“Jesus, you’re soaked, man, I’m so sorry! What was I thinking – I – I’ll get you some – towel? and something dry too – you shouldn’t have come, fuck, I feel so stupid—“

“Dean,” Michael interrupted him gently and just as kindly took both of the other’s hands in his own. “It’s okay.”

“No, it freakin’ isn’t!” Dean exclaimed almost hysterically, and that was where Michael had to draw the line.

Without thought he pulled Dean close and wrapped his arms around him. He really had no idea how to handle physical contact properly, not to mention how to deal with someone on the verge of a panic attack, but this seemed as good as anything he could say. Moreover the warmth of Dean’s toned body pressed so close made him, too, feel at ease. He felt his own heart thump slower, even if not weaker, and Dean’s shaking subsided as well.

\--

Dean listened as Michael laced his shoes and put his still-damp jacket on.

They agreed last night didn’t happen. According to them, neither remembered much, but all the same, Dean made Michael swear nothing had happened. He didn’t break down in the middle of the night and there had been no cuddling involved.

Only there was, and no matter how uncomfortable both of them sat on the sofa, it was something he was sure he’d never erase from his mind. Michael’s arms around his torso, the clothes cold and wet but his lips just next to his ear, the breath in his short hair warm and damp, and the quite probably/definitely imagined tiny kiss to his temple when Michael awkwardly pulled back to excuse himself for his drenched attire made Dean all squishy inside.

This whole morning his mind had been reeling about this. He admittedly had a huge-ass crash on this perfect-dick of a man (no, no pictures, damn it, he was about to make the worst decision of his life, don’t make it any worse!), and their one month of pair-work was just officially over yesterday. So really, what was there to lose? He had no real chances anyway. It wasn’t that Michael couldn’t just walk away and never again cross paths with him…

“So…” Michael started – wasn’t it disgustingly lovely that he just didn’t seem to find the words to say goodbye?

One singly drawn out syllable, and Dean just reached the point when listening to that sexy voice wasn’t enough.

He reached out, all disguised as if he just wanted to fix the collar of Michael’s jacket (as if he knew how it stood or anything!) but used his leverage and the other’s surprise to pull him against him and clumsily search for his mouth with his own.

Whoever was in charge upstairs felt gracious this morning, because Dean got him nearly immediately right, and dear God, or whoever felt willing to listen, he was dying happy if kissing Michael was the last thing he did on this planet. It was a tad bit shy, but he made sure their lips were sealed hard, and it just felt so good! So right, and everything and even more he had ever imagined!

The taste of coffee still lingered on Michael’s lips, it was fresh and dark, bitter and heady and hot. There was fire, burning coal as they touched and even if it was just a tiny patch of skin compared to how much Dean wanted nothing but to press up against Michael, skin on skin, chest to chest, melting into each other, having the other’s steel-hard muscles seal around him like a cage and just never move from that position, how Dean would melt like glass, like ice thrown in the fire. Their stubble scratched in the silence of the hallway and there was also a muffled gasp from Michael while Dean growled low in his throat, because those lips were just as he dreamed about. Warm and firm, a searing lock slotting closed and with the dazing tingle of pure power that lingered on his lips when he finally had to pull back.

 

\--

 

“Hey,” Lucifer greeted Michael in the hallway. “What’s up?”

Maybe if he ignored him, Lucifer will start pouting and get lost. Out of his face, his mind didn’t have the capacity right now.

Lucifer didn’t get the message. When Michael tried to go past him, suddenly his arm blocked the way.

“What?” He glared.

“Talk to me,” Lucifer ordered meeting his flashing eyes evenly.

Michael gritted his teeth and grabbed Lucifer’s wrist, with the honest intention to twist and maybe even break his twin’s arm if he didn’t let go, but Lucifer had none of it. He grabbed Michael by the collar just where Dean had been holding him some minutes ago, and still before he had time to react the older found himself slammed up near the hooks for the coats and Lucifer in his face.

“It’s Dean, isn’t it?” Lucifer asked, but when Michael only squirmed a bit more and glared back, he shook him. “Did you two fight?”

“No.”

_Dean kissed me._

“Talk to me, or I swear I’ll smash your pretty face.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

_Dean kissed me._

“Sure you do. Come on, what now? Did you finally catch up on the fact that your communal service’s over and you no longer have an excuse to see him daily? And you lie as horribly as ever and you were kicked out on your ass?”

“What are you talking about?” Michael snapped. Lucifer had absolutely no right to prod him like that!

“What. Happened?!”

“Dean kissed me.”

It escaped Michael’s lips and mind before he could catch himself. This was the only simple thought that had been running around his mind in multiple shapes and colours, blinding him on his way home and now that he had to listen to Lucifer it grew impossible to keep a lid on this hurricane. He felt like he wanted to stop a comet by clinging to a lonely string, he wanted to scream it out he was so hopelessly helpless with this knowledge.

_Dean kissed me._

“Dean kissed you.” Lucifer said bewildered and he pulled a long face in surprise.

“Dean kissed me,” Michael repeated dutifully and his voice was still nothing close to the cry that he felt could shake the pillars of earth.

“Goddamn you, Michael!” Lucifer exclaimed and shook him. “Why the fuck are you here then, instead of making out on the couch or whatever?”

“I—I don’t—“

“If you say you don’t think of him that way, I swear I’ll kill you!”

“But I don’t.”

Lucifer jerked back from Michael as if he had been burnt and looked at him with disbelieving owlish eyes.

“Jesus Christ, how can you be so stupid?”

“I—But we are—“

“Not just friends! Oh my God, how can we be related?” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose before clapping Michael’s shoulder’s and looking him straight in the eye – which would be terribly ridiculous if it wasn’t Lucifer. “Let me clarify, brother mine. You’re hopelessly, irreversibly in love with that guy – shut your mouth and listen! You talk about him all the time, you fume because he thinks he’s stupid, you went as far as to admit that he wrote one of your essays! He whistles and you’re out of the shower, up in the middle of the night and you rush to his door in the pouring rain like a puppy wagging his tail! Dean smiles and you’re like a five year old girl who saw a unicorn shitting rainbows for her, Dean’s angry with you and you’d start World War III. Seriously, you’ve been daydreaming – _Daydreaming_! You don’t understand how worried I was you were dying or something! And dude’s hot. So get your shit together, bro, go back and snog him good, or don’t ever think coming back!”

\--

 

Lucifer’s little rant had a surprisingly sobering effect on Michael. He hurriedly changed into something dry and third time that day he was on his way between his and Dean’s apartment. However, this time his mind was full with different scenarios playing out. He tried to build strategies, imagine all the possible scenes – will Dean even open the door for him? will he talk to him, or maybe just shout at him to get lost and never come see him again? Or try to throw things at him? – with the insufferable knot in his stomach that he grew to know as a bundle of emotions.

Longing, desperation, a ting of annoyance framed with fondness and an amorphous mass of something that Lucifer gave a name. Love. It successfully blocked his mind from coming up with anything in particular when he knocked on Dean’s door.

He’ll see. He was good at adapting, he’ll just improvise.

For a while he heard nothing. He frowned. Dean couldn’t have disappeared like that.

He knocked again and took a small step closer.

Maybe Dean didn’t kiss him because he liked him. There wasn’t much to like in Michael after all. His ex-partners were usually drawn to his good looks or the power he held, but dear God, didn’t he know how many times he was described as an emotionally-stunted, manipulative arrogant dick with a God-complex? So what could Dean actually find in him, seriously? Maybe he just wanted to thank him for getting out of bed in the middle of the night.

He felt as if his heart had just been cut off the veins and arteries and was swallowed by the black hole that opened in his stomach.

He gritted his teeth and knocked for the third time.

At least he had the right to know.

Cas barked, sharp and impatient and clawed at the door. Michael nearly stepped up so close that had he leaned a bit forward he could press his ear to it. Dean grumbled and fumed on the other side.

Some butterflies tried to make their way out of the black hole and flutter their faint-hope coloured wings in Michael’s chest.

Fumbling and another bark.

“Dean?” Michael called out tentatively.

Everything fell silent immediately inside.

“Look, I get it if you, uh,” _don’t want to see me right now_ , “don’t want me around, but maybe we shouldn’t talk about this through the door.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Dean told him, voice stiff and strained. “I don’t talk, no touchy-feely, and you don’t do that either, so why don’t we just forget I exist?”

_No._

“Dean. We need to talk.” Michael said now firmly, and he noted pleasingly surprised that the tension from his shoulders was gone, he stood straight and strong, like he always did when he wanted something, his voice assertive. He wanted and he shall get it.

Dean cursed but soon opened the door and was standing face-to-face with Michael.

His freckle-dusted cheeks were on fire, jawline hard and tendons working in his neck as he swallowed and chewed on the inside of his cheek, frown deep over his brows and defiance clear in the line of his shoulders but all under the façade he was rumpled and close to crumbling and it made Michael smile. Just a small upturn of the lips, but the lines around his own eyes softened and he had never felt the need so strong to nuzzle the stubble-covered cheek.

“What?” Dean snapped. “I kissed you, yes, fuck it, and I’m glad I did it. But guess what, I could totally go on moping about how you’d never kiss me back on my own, so fuck you.”

A levee seemed to break in Dean as soon as it was out in the open and Michael just stared bewildered as the string of words kept on falling from the lush lips.

“I’ve had the hots for you from day one, because you just have to have this freaking let’s make everyone squishy and horny voice, and you’re Mr. Perfect Genius and God-knows that, and I’m stupid and blind and pathetic and –“

“Dean,” Michael interrupted gently. There was a grin that just wanted to break his face. “I’ll kiss you.”

“Fuck you man! Don’t dare to make fun of me, or I swear to God—Wha-mpf?!”

Dan was going to deny it till the moment he died and even after the unmanly squeal that escaped him when Michael took his face between his palms and pulled him gently close until he could brush their lips together, teasing and experimentally at first but the warmth of Dean’s soft lips made him _need_. They were lush and plush like the fresh green grass under his bare feet in May, the gasp Dean sucked in through his nose like the breeze and comforting like the sun shining gold on the endless blue sky.

Michael just never wanted to let go.

When he pulled back the air was trembling between them with Dean’s panting breaths and Michael had to concentrate real hard over the thick cloud that settled on his mind that his own breathing stayed calm.

“How about you add breathtakingly hot and desirable to your self-description?” Michael offered and teasingly brushed his lips to Dean’s.

He watched with delight as colour bloomed high in Dean’s cheeks and if it wasn’t for Michael’s hands on his face he would have turned to the floor to hide, but he had none of it. He loved the fluttering long lashes, the freckles that stood out even more as Dean blushed, then his eyes wandered to the column of his throat, then lower where the lines ran together with his collarbone displayed nicely by the V-neck shirt he wore and the ragged rise and fall of his chest.

Need. He _needed_. And _wanted_ like never before.

“I- “ Dean stuttered and his pink tongue sneaked out to wet his lips, Michael watched in a trance. “I’m not sure ‘bout that.”

The embarrassed cocky smirk that finally reappeared on Dean’s face was enough encouragement for Michael to press closer, toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest and wound one of his arms around the narrow waist.

“I bet I can be pretty convincing,” Michael murmured and with the tip of his nose he grazed the line of Dean’s jaw to lick playfully at his earlobe. Dean’s chuckle ended in another unmanly gasp.

“How about I call you a fucking hot manipulative asshole?”

“That would need some further investigation, I believe.”

“Don’t get this cocky on me, I can still kick you out, Michael!”

“Now, why would you do that?”

Dean mewled just nice when Michael’s hand started trailing down the small of his back, keeping him close as he pressed their mouths back together. Dean’s arms wound themselves around Michael’s neck, one hand buried in his hair, tugging when he ran his tongue over the seam of Dean’s lips and that was enough to make all logical thoughts fly out through the window. With a turn he pushed Dean right up against the wall next to the door and took advantage of the surprised gasp to dip his tongue in the cave of Eden when they were suddenly separated by the indignant growl that followed Cas’ whine.

They erupted in nervous chuckles, but despite Dean’s squirming Michael didn’t back off more than an arm’s length, keeping his prey caged. He would be damned if he let Dean go like that.

Funny how such a simple order as ‘Go and snog him good’ could help him make up his mind that he had tried to avoid for two weeks. Now that he saw it, he couldn’t go without this sight of the blond rumpled and flushed and all flustered hot just for him. Not to mention the sight of Dean in the kitchen humming some favourite song as he moved about the stove to make the most delicious breakfast Michael had ever tried.

He could get used to that.

“How about we carry on with – like at least one closed door?” Dean offered breathlessly. “Only if you want, and, y’know it wasn’t just some kind of pity-act—“

Michael kissed him hard just for good measure to shut up this crazy string of thoughts.

“I have some explorations to make,” he stated then added with a lewd smirk that he was sure Dean could hear in his voice, “like how far those freckles go.”

Quickly the door slammed shut and soon they stumbled to the couch to fall on it in a heap of limbs, wandering hot hands and searing desperate kisses.

 

 

It took Michael a week to find out that Dean’s shoulders were, too, covered in a myriad of freckles, and two more months to spend his morning counting them on his boyfriend’s hips too, making Dean squirm and growl when he found out that just after waking the blond was rather ticklish to soft fingertips on his hipbone.

Then his greatest strategic challenge was to find out what they were going to do in the summer, make sure Dean didn’t hyperventilate from the simple idea of his family, and especially his father wanting to meet Michael, and how he was not going to kill Lucifer for his snide remarks that grew into a still irritating habit. His brother really needed to hook up with someone permanently because next year they won’t have an apartment just for their own, since Sam got accepted to Law and was moving in with his brother. The latter was the biggest problem.

Maybe he would just simply kick Lucifer out. Or get their little brother bunk up. He’ll convince Dean about that. But for now he was more busy with lazily sucking another hickey in the string of red and purple marks that lined Dean’s neck.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm getting back to writing my other stuff.  
> Thanks if you tagged alomg! Let me know if it wasn't too bad ;)


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